


An Everywhere

by amyfortuna



Series: 2015 Season of Kink (Card 1) [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Blow Jobs, Confinement, Endearments, Fleecy Blanket, Half-Sibling Incest, Halls of Mandos, Id Fic, M/M, Or Possibly The Void, Past Character Death, Post-Canon Fix-It, Reconciliation Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 20:15:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4800824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fëanáro and Ñolofinwë, following their respective deaths, find themselves locked in darkness with only each other for light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Everywhere

**Author's Note:**

> This fulfils my Season of Kink square for Confined/Caged. 
> 
> The title is a reference to John Donne's [The Good Morrow](http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/173360).
> 
>  
> 
> _...For love, all love of other sights controls,_  
>  _And makes one little room an everywhere._  
>  _Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone,_  
>  _Let maps to other worlds on worlds have shown..._

Fëanáro was alone in the darkness, a living, warm, darkness that seemed to mould itself to him, surrounding and supporting him. When he moved, he could do so freely, and the darkness was there to catch him if he fell. 

He looked in all directions and there was Nothing. And yet it was not what he had always thought the Outer Void would be, cold and cruel, but a Somewhere. 

Perhaps it was the Halls of Mandos, he thought, and this was his cage, his doom, to be captured here where there is no escape. He lay back against the embracing dark and pondered. 

Death brought a stillness that he had never managed in life. For here there was nothing to forge, nothing to write, no lands to explore, no sons to teach, no kings and kingdoms, no ships, no swords, no Balrogs or Morgoth. There was only his own mind, and thought by thought he let it empty, drawing down a strange sort of peace in the knowledge that he was utterly unable to change anything, now. 

It was all done and over with, far more swiftly than he could have thought possible. Before, if one had told him he would not last a single confrontation with Morgoth's forces, he would have laughed that notion to scorn, and yet it was nothing more than the truth. 

He had fully expected to die fighting Morgoth himself, if even that. It was strangely humbling to know that he had not even come close to it. 

He lay drifting for an untold amount of time, thoughts falling through his mind, flaring like the remnants of a fire burning itself out, and then fading to ash. 

\-----

Time, or what felt like time, passed. 

Fëanáro began to feel the warmth of his own body strangely alive in the dark place where he lay. He knew that it was not a real body, only the memory that his spirit carried of being in a body, of feeling blood surging, nerves tingling, joints bending. And nevertheless he stretched all his limbs anyway, feeling the sensation of a soft cloth over his skin, bending with him. 

He was unsure that he was clothed - or what clothes a spirit would need to wear, but he knew that a soft dark blanket lay over him. He felt the cloth move against his skin, bringing him the knowledge that he was naked underneath it. 

The movement of his limbs felt luxurious, decadent. It was almost as though he had forgotten what touch felt like, and even the touch of his own hands was blissful. Almost without thinking, he slid a hand down his side, caressing himself almost as he would have touched a lover, shivering at the sensations which arose. He could not resist the urge to explore further, and brushed a hand against his nipple, feeling it harden at the touch. He could hear himself draw in a gasping breath, and the very sound of it was entrancing. 

He went still except for the fingers gently twisting his nipple, letting the sensations wash over him without fear or need to hurry. After a time, he began to notice that the dark was not quite so dark any longer. He could not pinpoint where the light was coming from, but it was there, very faint, and he finally realised it must be the light from his own eyes, shining there in the darkness. 

He let his hand fall to his side, distracted by trying to figure out why the light of the Trees that always filled the eyes of one who had beheld them had gone away, and why it had now returned. A strange feeling as if a victory had been won was descending upon him, flooding him. 

And Fëanáro laughed, there in the darkness, and so it was laughing that he watched a sudden tearing brightness pour into the warmth of his darkness for a flash, and through that gap in the fabric of reality tumbled Ñolofinwë, naked and limp, eyes closed, falling down to Fëanáro's side. He did not stir once next to Fëanáro, but only sighed. It was dark once more now, except for the faint light, just enough to see his brother's face, which bore a look as of weariness beyond grief. 

Fëanáro took a breath, and laid a hand on Ñolofinwë's bare shoulder, feeling the coldness of his body that had always been so warm. Carefully, he removed the soft dark blanket he wore, and draped it over his brother, who made no move or sound to show that he even realised that Fëanáro was there. It was as if he were in a very deep sleep. 

Fëanáro looked at him for a very long time, hand resting against Ñolofinwë's shoulder, which slowly warmed under his touch. He had never been able to look at Ñolofinwë - just watch him sleep - like this before. Ñolofinwë looked very young, far more like the child he had been long ago, when for a time the two of them had been friends as much as they ever were, before strife came between them. Ñolofinwë also looked very vulnerable and exhausted, lips slightly pouting, eyelids flickering as if he were a child dreaming. 

Fëanáro felt a sudden wild urge to kiss him, and an even stranger one to take him into his arms, to hold him and protect him. He brushed a hand over Ñolofinwë's hair instead, gently pushing the dark locks away from his face, watching him closely. 

Ñolofinwë sighed again, and this time it was a sigh of relief. His tense face relaxed somewhat, though the dream still held him. It pulled him back under as soon as Fëanáro stopped touching him, the muscles of his arms clenching as though he held a sword, his legs quivering as though he were running, in that dream. 

"Nolo," Fëanáro whispered, calling Ñolofinwë by the nickname he had not used for such a long time now. "Nolo, wake." 

Ñolofinwë took in a shuddering breath, and Fëanáro gave in, putting his arms around his brother, the cloth of the blanket between them. He put his head down against Ñolofinwë's shoulder, their hair mingling, black against blackness. 

"Nolo," he whispered, lips just brushing against Ñolofinwë's ear. Ñolofinwë, to his relief, stirred softly, raising his head a little. Fëanáro raised his own, and their eyes met, silver light catching silver light. Fëanáro drew back a little, giving Ñolofinwë space.

"Fëanáro?" Ñolofinwë said softly. He glanced around, taking in their dark surroundings, catching the edge of the blanket in his fingers and feeling it, much as Fëanáro had done before him. "Where are we?" 

"In darkness," he said. "The Halls, I would guess."

Ñolofinwë gave a trembling sigh and drew away from Fëanáro, turning onto his side, but still facing him. "Then it is over," he whispered. "And I failed." He closed his eyes, turning his head down, away from Fëanáro. 

"What did you do?" Fëanáro said softly, far more gently than he ever thought he would speak to his brother. 

"I challenged him," Ñolofinwë said, hesitantly, opening his eyes. "We fought. I lost." 

Fëanáro did not need to ask who had been challenged. "Alone, you fought him? Why?" 

Ñolofinwë sighed, wearily. "We were holding him off for a time, laying siege of a kind to Angband for near four hundred years. But all we did was give him time to build a force too great for us to withstand. All is laid waste, Fëanáro - I know not how many of your sons yet live, but Nelyo fights on." He leaned forward, almost in Fëanáro's arms again, pressing his forehead against Fëanáro's shoulder like a child seeking comfort. 

"Tell me of your fight," Fëanáro said, and Ñolofinwë did so, carefully, hesitantly, getting the words out slowly with many stops and starts. Their minds, always before almost totally shielded against each other, began to drift together, and Fëanáro could catch glimpses of the memories weaving their way through Ñolofinwë's head. 

At the end, seven wounds, and the final, vicious, cut to Morgoth's foot followed by crushing blackness, Fëanáro could not restrain his smile of triumph, and pulled Ñolofinwë against him, laughing. "Ah, brother, you did so well! A triumph I would call that rather than a defeat. You did far better than ever I managed."

Ñolofinwë opened his mouth as if to protest but Fëanáro was overwhelmed with delight, brooking no objection. "I could kiss you!" he said. "I could - ah!" _I could kiss you_ blazed through his brain like lightning and he had no sooner said it than he acted, kissing Ñolofinwë hard on his open mouth. 

Ñolofinwë gasped in shock, and then as lips and tongues met, let out an incoherent breathless noise, and yielded utterly to Fëanáro's plundering mouth, going all but boneless underneath him. 

The kiss seemed to go on forever. Every time Fëanáro made to draw back, to let Ñolofinwë out if he did not truly want this, Ñolofinwë pressed upward, keeping their mouths together. Their bodies were flush against each other with only a blanket between them, and Fëanáro could feel Ñolofinwë, aroused against him, so overwhelmed by it that there was no room for shame. 

Their mental connection blazed into sudden vibrant life, stronger than it had ever been, and Fëanáro was nearly undone by the strength of the _need_ and the _want_ and above all, the _love_ pouring through from Ñolofinwë. This had been there all along, waiting for him through hopeless years? 

At last he broke their kiss, bending down to nuzzle against Ñolofinwë's throat. "I'm so sorry, brother, I'm sorry. I wish I had known. It would have all been different." His voice was a whisper, rough and breathless. 

"I love you. I always have," Ñolofinwë whispered, voice sounding equally broken and rough. "Kiss me again, my Fëanáro." 

Fëanáro did, and this kiss was soft and slow, a careful, gentle exploration. Ñolofinwë sighed happily against him, eyes closed, a blissful look on his face. 

One hand sliding down Ñolofinwë's back, Fëanáro pulled the blanket out from between them with the other, throwing it into the darkness. Ñolofinwë's hand slipped down his chest and finally came to rest on his hip, drawing them back together, opening his eyes to look at Fëanáro. They were of nearly equal height, and pressed together from thigh to chest. The arousal between them was unmistakable; Ñolofinwë's cock pressed warm against Fëanáro's thighs, and Fëanáro's rubbed against Ñolofinwë's hip. 

At the feel of Fëanáro pressing against him with no barrier between, Ñolofinwë gave an inarticulate, broken cry, eyes fluttering shut, and thrust against Fëanáro's thighs, unashamed and desperate in his need. Fëanáro smiled and pressed a kiss against his throat, and then leaned to whisper in his ear. "Patience, my Nolo. You were always ever the patient one." 

Ñolofinwë opened his eyes and the need in them was unmistakable. "I have lost all patience, Fëanáro, when it comes to you. I know only your fire raging within my heart." 

Fëanáro smiled against Ñolofinwë's throat, then moved downward, kissing across his chest, laving for a moment at a hard nipple, pressing his mouth to the soft skin of Ñolofinwë's belly, tongue dipping into his navel, and finally taking Ñolofinwë's cock into his mouth. Ñolofinwë cried out, hands coming up into Fëanáro's hair, pulling at it in a way that made Fëanáro groan around the erection in his mouth. 

The taste of Ñolofinwë was like fire to his blood. Fëanáro licked at the head of Ñolofinwë's cock and Ñolofinwë gasped, "Brother!" sounding almost in shock, delighted and aroused. Deliberately relaxing, Fëanáro pressed downward, taking Ñolofinwë's cock into his mouth, into his throat, tongue working at him, tasting the salty bitterness of him, so like the way he tasted himself. 

Ñolofinwë's hands were still in his hair, though they had gone limp, and he was making small desperate sounds at every stroke of Fëanáro's tongue. "I'm going to - I can't - " he said at last, panting, and Fëanáro's only response was to draw back a little, keeping Ñolofinwë's cock in his mouth, and press his tongue against the head of his cock, as if he would draw Ñolofinwë's release from him. 

His brother writhed beneath him, crying out wordlessly, and spilled into Fëanáro's mouth. There was a heady kind of triumph in it, and Fëanáro swallowed down Ñolofinwë's seed, carefully licking him to be sure he was clean, until Ñolofinwë reached down and took him by the shoulder. "Come here," he panted, and Fëanáro obeyed, releasing Ñolofinwë's cock in favour of taking him into his arms and petting his hair soothingly. 

Ñolofinwë nestled against him, eyes blinking slow at him like a cat's, and Fëanáro was overwhelmed with a great feeling of tenderness and warmth. "Just rest, baby," he whispered. "The dark is warm, wherever we are, and we are here together."

"Of course we are," Ñolofinwë breathed. "I swore to follow you. So let all continue beyond these borders, and when the time comes we'll conquer them all, you and me together." He smiled up at Fëanáro, and groped with his free hand for the blanket that been thrown away. Finding it, he laid it carefully over them both, and they huddled together in the darkness, the only light their eyes as they looked at each other, the only sound their breath, everywhere and everything in the utter black.


End file.
